


Something to live for

by qwertysweetea



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Angry Kissing, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Related, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Feelings, Fights, First Kiss, Hannibal Extended Universe, Heavy Drinking, Held Down, Kissing, M/M, Rough Kissing, Violence, drunken fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertysweetea/pseuds/qwertysweetea
Summary: “You care to tell me what that was about?” It was calm, almost collected. It surprised Tristan how calm he managed to make it sound after the effort it had taken to move the younger man.Galahad scoffed in reply, swaying in an attempt to catch his balance and his gaze landed several places on and around Tristan before it hit his face, registering none of it before the piercing coldness of the others eyes staring back hit him. “Why don’t you tell me?” He snarled, words slow and thick, exercising all the control over them he could muster to stop them slurring. “Go on, Tristan. How about you tell me-” he stepped forward “-what the fuck that was about.” and punctuated it with a jarring shove against his chest.Just an angsty, kiss-it-better fic set after “I have something to live for!”





	Something to live for

**Author's Note:**

> It happened again. Why?

Gawain was only content to go to his own bedchamber once he’d seen Galahad securely in his first. The news had been like a punch to the gut after the festivities and not even he could find himself faulting Galahad for his reaction. He’d regret it in the morning, at least in part, but as long as he was out of everyone’s way until then they could avoid him doing something he would regret more.

He’d shoved him unceremoniously through the door of his room after a firm, if not a little bit heartbroken, hug and watched him stumble to and land face down on his mattress before heading off to his own horrendous night’s sleep.

With the amount of alcohol in his system and the adrenaline slowly seeping out of him, the last thing Gawain expected was for Galahad to find the energy to pull himself off of his furs and make his way back out towards the courtyard, attempting to start fights with random passers-by as he went.

Luckily for Gawain, now huddled under his own covers and blissfully unaware of the mess his brother was trying to get himself into, another of their brothers had taken over the watch.

Not the best option for the job given the circumstances, Tristan had spotted him on the way up to his own room. It would have been a glorious lie if he said he hadn’t fought the compulsion several times to turn on his heels and leave him to take a beating he’d more than likely deserve. However appealing the thought of Galahad riding off with them in the morning with a broken nose and his tail between his legs would be… he couldn’t quite remember where he was going with that thought when his attention was taken again by the other.

Having continued his rant towards the poor, oblivious town’s people, Galahad found himself propped up against a table with a fist tightened onto his collar and a red-faced drunk man inches away from dislocating his jaw. Something to do with his drink. Tristan had to remind himself that the previously unfinished thought didn’t involve watching him get his pretty face broken in, and he pushed himself off the walk he was leaning against with a sigh.

It is surprisingly easy to please a disgruntled drunkard. A coin flicking across his vision and the promise that it was enough to fix the damage done was enough of a distraction. Removing an angry, raving drunkard from a situation, even one as far from his favour as humanly possible, was a bit more difficult.

He might have been the youngest and the smallest but Galahad wasn’t a boy and he wasn’t easy to move; he was heavy, and strong, and was being driven with red-vision while his inhibitions were dampened and tensions high.

Tristan's two hands fisted into the front of his shirt did very little to help his attempt to push him out of the situation. Only when Tristian threaded a hand through his hair did he manage to gain enough leverage to pull him out of the crowded area and into the secluded courtyard behind it, alone and in almost complete darkness. If the sounds of the evening weren’t carried over on the breeze then the atmosphere would have been almost oppressive.

There he let him go and Galahad recoiled with it, a face of venom and chest rising and falling frantically with his raging breath.

“You care to tell me what that was about?” It was calm, almost collected. It surprised Tristan how calm he managed to make it sound after the effort it had taken to move the younger man.

Galahad scoffed in reply, swaying in an attempt to catch his balance and his gaze landed several places on and around Tristan before it hit his face, registering none of it before the piercing coldness of the others eyes staring back hit him.

“Why don’t you tell me?” He snarled, words slow and thick, exercising all the control over them he could muster to stop them slurring. “Go on, Tristan. How about you tell me-” he stepped forward “-what the fuck that was about.” and punctuated it with a jarring shove against his chest.

Tristan moved with it, dancing back a few steps from the recoil and anticipated the next blow. When it came, he dodged it easily.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I’m allowed to be fucking angry!” He stepped towards him again, this time with an arm drawn back and fist clenched ready to swing. It was unbalanced, sloppy and looked far less sincere than it felt. Just how ridiculous he looked would be a thought for when the alcohol and rage had cleared from his mind.

His arm was easy to catch and whatever fight he was attempting to put up was counteracting even easier. Tristan’s hand closed around his wrist as it came towards him and the momentum spun Galahad back into his chest, catching him in a restraint with his own arms.

“You’re drunk and upset.” Tristan commented, halting the other’s struggles with a warning tug on his arms. The others breath hitched in discomfort as he did. “Go to bed and rest. Don’t start a fight you’ll regret.”

Galahad’s struggles slowed and his arms turned slack. For a moment Tristan could have believed that he had passed out for how quickly the calmness spread between them. For the moment, and the next there was a sudden, sharp pain blooming in his face and Galahad was pulling free as his grip loosed with the shock.

The pieces slowly clicked together as he looked up. Galahad held the back of his head as he regained himself, only letting it go to plant his hands on Tristan’s shirt.

Maybe he was still a little dazed from the blow, or maybe he’d underestimated how much he’d had to drink himself. Everything felt like it was moving in double-time but he was recalling it in slow motion.

His back was in the dirt and Galahad was above him, legs either side of his own and hands tight on his elbows pinning him as much as the rage-painted face was; hair dishevelled and soaked with sweat, jaw tight and teeth bared ready to tear out his throat, at that very moment Galahad looked like he killed for pleasure and pleasure alone.

“It’s you, you fucking asshole.” He spat, voice raw and breathless but still completely Galahad. Then that mouth was on Tristan’s, open and consuming, all tongue and depth, warmth, and everything that Galahad had to give him in the moment that he couldn’t convey with the merciless grip on his arms.

All his anger, all his sadness, all his disappointment was pushed into that kiss. It was desperate, frantic and hurt in a way that pulled Tristan back to reality as every little shift attempted to push him away.

Tristan pushed back into it, instinct before he realised it was want and want before he realised it was need. He almost hated the weight pinning his arms by his sides when his head was filling with images of his fingers driving back into that hair, seizing the chance to properly run them through and tangle them into his damp, messy curls. Almost, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel that. It was Galahad’s weight pinning him, and in that moment he would have let Galahad do anything.

When Galahad released his lips, it was with a sigh neither content nor discontent. Acceptance, almost. When Tristan opened his eyes, it was to see that Galahad's were still filled with anger and hurt.

“S’pose it doesn’t matter now though, does it?” Slowly his aggression melted down until he sounded like he was musing, and Tristan wiggled his arms to find his grip unrelenting.

“It matters…” he muttered in reply. It sounded weak.

For a moment Galahad seemed to consider it. His eyebrows twitched with concentration and he swallowed thickly.

When he stood it was quick and fluid, with a grace no man as drunk as he should have managed. Giving Tristan one last shove down by the shoulders as he propelled himself away from him, he turned on his heels and walked away.


End file.
